


Stay

by perilous_circumstance



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy is a Brat, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Office Sex, One Shot, Professor Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23300407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perilous_circumstance/pseuds/perilous_circumstance
Summary: What is it about Malfoy that can make her blood heat to the point of boiling, until she is incandescent with rage, until all boundaries seem to blur? Hermione doesn’t know but she is sure game to find out.A little one-shot relieving some tension.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 129





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> A little something for some fun! Un-betaed so be nice.

Hermione had learned several different techniques for patience since becoming a Hogwarts professor. Daily interactions with teenagers will do that, and she was fairly sure she had become an expert at keeping her cool in a frustrating situation. But one parent-professor conference had her forgetting all of her coping skills. Because the parent was Draco sodding Malfoy.

“This is unacceptable, Granger,” he ground out, the pale skin of his face florid with anger. He was standing on the other side of her desk, fists clenched at his side as he glared at her. “I think you are all forgetting just whose son he is.”

She scoffed, the sound bursting past her lips. For a split second she blanched at how unprofessional the response was, but it was quickly overtaken by rage.

“Believe me when I tell you that there isn’t a moment that goes by that I don’t know  _ exactly _ who his father is,” she spat, rounding the desk and stalking towards the door. She flung it open and gestured wide, her eyes narrowing at the tall blond. “Now before we bring half of Hogwarts down upon us for screaming at each other until we are hoarse, I think it is time for you to leave.”

He folded his arms over his chest, cocking a hip against her desk and leveled an unimpressed look her way. “Not a chance,” he drawled. “You are going to promise me that there will be no more of this nonsense of Scorpius getting poor marks in Arithmancy.” His eyebrows rose in a haughty look as he drummed his fingers against his forearm. “I expect private tutoring until he improves, with your full attention on his progress.”

“My full —,” she spluttered, throwing her hands up and letting the door to her office swing shut. “Malfoy, I have other students who are just as deserving as your son. I give them all my attention, regardless of who their parents may be. I have offered Scorpius plenty of opportunities to take advantage of outside-class sessions and work and he has blown me off for Quidditch nine times out of ten! I don’t know what else you want me to do!”

Her breath was coming in sharp pants, the anger coursing through her veins like a hot tide. Not for the first time, she wondered what it was about this man that made her blood heat and boil like it did. Ever since they had come back into contact once Scorpius had started Hogwarts, each encounter inevitably ended up with them screaming at each other. More than a decade after the War and they still couldn’t exist peacefully.

“I expect you to do your damn job, woman,” he roared, his arms flying wide. “This is unacceptable! You will —“

Hermione saw red. Without another thought she stalked towards him, her magic sparking across her skin and tangling in her curls. She came to a halt inches from him, her finger digging into his chest.

“You will stop ordering me about, Malfoy,” she spat, her voice shaking with rage. “I am not one of your bloody house elves.” She pressed forward, pushing him back until the backs of his thighs hit her desk and he scrabbled at the edge with his hands. “I am your son’s professor and I deserve your respect!”

He was looking down at her with his eyes ablaze, the color high on his patrician cheekbones. Both of them were panting, the air a haze of unspent magic swirling around them. For a moment, Hermione thought she detected something different in the heat of his gaze, something that wasn’t quite the anger she had expected. But all thoughts were suddenly chased from her head when he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

A buzz of static shot from the contact of his lips to the top of her head, wiping clean every space in between. She was rigid with shock, only aware of the soft push of his lips against hers and the sudden pressure of his hands at her shoulders, keeping her in place. Her eyes were blown wide, and they watched dazedly as his snapped open and caught her gaze.

He wrenched back violently, his own eyes wide with shock. She felt the lack of warm contact like a loss, her lips parting in surprise as she stared up at him. He sucked in a shuddering breath, his hands spasming at her shoulders.

“Gods, Granger, I’m — I don’t know what I —,” he stuttered, his cheeks flushing even more. At any other time, she would have found his confusion endearing, but now she just wanted him to shut up. With no other thought than wanting to chase the warmth of his lips, she fisted his shirt in her hand and rose to meet his mouth.

There was a beat of surprise, where he was as still as she had been a moment before. But then he groaned, deep in his chest, and the sound seemed to awaken both of them. He slanted his mouth over hers, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. She opened her lips to him, chasing his tongue with her own as her fingers traced the muscles of his neck and collarbone. She felt her blood heating again and wondered vaguely how she had ever failed to recognize this particular type of heat when it came to this particular wizard.

His hands slid down the back of her cardigan and came to rest at the dip above her bum. Pressing her against him, she felt the hard proof of his own need against her stomach. She ground against him, delighting in the sound he made as his hands moved lower, until he was half lifting her, half dragging her against his lap. She mewled into his mouth, the contact between her thighs sending a jolt of desire running through her veins.

He spun them, hitching her up until she perched on her desk, legs spread to either side of his narrow hips. Pulling away from her slightly, one hand buried in her curls and the other bunching her skirt high on her hip, he blinked down at her. She grinned, pushing up until her lips slid along his and her fingers began to fumble at his belt. 

When she finally wrapped her fingers around him, the sound he made had her toes curling.

With the last bit of coherent thought she possessed, she sent a quick wandless locking charm to the office door, followed by a silencing spell that flowed over the walls and into the floor.

Malfoy glanced up, tracking her magic with hooded eyes. When he looked back at her, Hermione’s breath caught in her throat at the desire pouring off of him.

“That was the sexiest thing I have ever seen, Granger,” he whispered, his hands sliding up her thighs and under her skirt. When his fingertips brushed over her panties, the sound she made in response was animalistic. 

“Merlin, so wet for me,” he groaned, pulling her underwear aside. There was some general fumbling and shifting and then he was there, the head of his cock sliding between her folds and she held her breath, wanting this more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

“Look at me, Granger,” he growled, one hand gripping her chin and pulling her face up. “I don’t want you pretending this is anyone else taking you.”

Her eyes widened, surprised by that bit of vulnerability he shared with her. Her fingers traced his cheekbones, her thumb swiping across his lower lip.

“I know it’s you, Malfoy,” she whispered, her eyes caught in his grey gaze. He groaned, his teeth catching the tip of her thumb as he pushed forward, filling her completely.

Hermione threw her head back, delighting in the feel of him. She felt stretched and pushed to the edge, the desire humming along every surface of her body. He let out a puff of breath, hitching one of her legs higher and then he was moving.

It was heat and push and pull and pressure. His palms on her breasts, her stomach, between her legs. Her fingers scrabbling for purchase at his shoulders, his back, his hips. The sounds they both made would haunt her for days, they way his lips found the juncture of neck and shoulder, his teeth worrying the skin stretched taut as she began to climb.

When she came, it was with a guttural whine, the world exploding behind her eyelids and his lips on hers. The shockwaves rolled through her, seemingly endless as he whispered incoherently against her mouth. 

When she had come down, her body deliciously boneless beneath his, she felt his own climax building and her eyes opened just in time to watch his face slacken and soften. She watched in wonder as the muscles relaxed and his eyes slid shut, the trademark smirk nowhere to be found. He moaned her name once, twice and then stilled against her, their breaths mingling in the silence of her office.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed here, her still half on top of the desk and him growing soft inside her. Despite the discomfort of their position, she didn’t want to move. The feeling of him against her, the push of his breath against her chest, the warm satisfaction in her bones; it was too much. When he began to move away, she grabbed at him and held him still.

His eyes snapped to hers and she could see the uncertainty in every line of his face. She took a moment to look at him, really  _ look _ at him. And what she saw there, in this unguarded moment, convinced her.

“Stay,” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “Please.”

He stared down at her for a moment, before pressing his lips against hers in answer. He kissed her breathless, his mouth soft and slow. When he pulled away from her, she sighed at the loss. Shifting off the desk, she stood before him and watched as he tucked himself back in his pants. Without another word, she reached for his hand and pulled him towards the door that led to her chambers.

Later that night, as the weight of his body pressed her into her bed, the aftershocks of their climaxes still shuddering through them, she let her fingers trail down his face. Over his eyelids and his sharp cheekbones, over the pillow of his lips and the point of his chin. When they slid along the ridges of his neck, she followed them with her lips and grinned at the contented sigh that slid out of him. 

Rolling away from her, he lay beside her staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. She could feel the nervous anxiety begin to creep it’s way into the room and decided to banish it once and for all. 

Her fingers found his beside her, curling around them until he rolled his gaze to hers.

“Stay,” she said, less of a question this time, though not quite a demand.

He laughed, the sound sharp in the stillness. Sliding up on one elbow, he peered down at her in the dim light of the room. His hand untangled from hers and came up to slide along her cheek, cupping her face. He watched her with a mixture of awe and affection that had her heart tumbling somersaults in her chest.

“Granger,” he said, his face dipping closer until their lips were centimeters apart. “I think from this moment forward, the answer will always be yes.”

  
  



End file.
